


Ebb and flow

by slightly_ajar



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Cannon appropriate violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mac Whump, MacGyver 2016, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: While on case Mac finds himself in a situation that literally takes his breath away.





	Ebb and flow

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a lovely time watching MacGyver and decided to play with writing some fic.
> 
> This is the first thing I've written in a long time. A really long time. I've avoided working out how many years it's been because it will make me feel old. So I'll have to beg your indulgence for maybe being a bit rusty. :)
> 
> I've had a lot of fun writing about these two and an hoping to do some more.

_My grandfather took me to a lake one cold day in November. The shore was great in the summer, it was full of holidaymakers laughing and sunbathing, eating ice cream and playing ball games. That day it was bleak and empty except for us. We walked down to the shoreline where the wind pulled at our clothes and turned my fingers icy, and stood at the shore looking out at a little boat that was moored, watching it bob up and down in the freezing lake._

_The water was grey and choppy.  
Grey and. _

_The water was grey._

_Water was._

_Water._

_I can’t breathe._

_I can’t breathe!_

MacGyver brought his elbow down hard onto the other man’s arm, the force of the blow travelled up his arm and into his shoulder but his attacker didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Certainly didn’t loosen the grip his meaty hands had around Mac’s throat.  
Some of Meat Hand’s friends had already been dealt with and were face down but this guy was stubborn, mean, built like a rhino and was refusing to join in with his unconscious buddies on the tile floor. Not good personality traits in someone who has it fixed in his tiny mind that he’d like to choke the life out of you. He was fast for a big guy. Mac had managed to land a couple of good right hooks but then Meat Hands had caught him with a blow to the ribs had been, well, Mac had never been hit by a speeding train but he was sure that he now an insight into the experience. The impact had sent him reeling, knocking his Swiss army knife from his hand, and while he was trying to regain his balance his opponent had grabbed him with the choking grip that Mac was now failing to break. 

With his lungs burning Mac looked around the room again, hoping to see something he could use to defend himself, a light fitting, a pen, a piece of litter even, but there was nothing. Just the white walls and bare floors of the corridor he and Jack and been running along after successfully completing their mission. Statistically more accidents happen to mountaineers when they are descending from a climb, maybe there a lesson to be learned in that, something to consider in the future, Mac thought. No doubt Jack would have something to say about on the subject, probably using a science fiction or action movie reference. 

Mac twisted his body, trying to free himself, hoping to ease the grip that held him. It did nothing. The calm his training and experience in the field usually gave him, the ability to stay detached and make rational decisions was ebbing away to be quickly replaced by panic. The pain and pressure on his throat were intolerable and his instincts were frantic with the need to get away. 

With his pulse thundering in his ears Mac looked over to where Jack was fighting hand to hand with two of Meat Hands other friends. The sound of their struggle echoed off the walls, grunts of pain and impact mixing and rebounding around the space. Jack was a better trained and more effective fighter that the two thugs but he was outnumbered and the bad guys weren’t complying with the rules that movie villains follow of attacking the good guys one at a time. They had clearly graduated from the same muscle for hire school as Meat Hands: they were big, mean and angry, and despite his skill Jack was having to work hard to break down their defenses.

Digging his nails into the fingers around his throat Mac attempted to drag an extra scrap of air in and tried to call out to Jack. The sound he made sounded like a pained, desperate gasp, too soft for Jack to hear. Frightened and final. And, Jesus, he might actually die here.  
Meat Hands leered at him and raised his arms, lifting Mac off his feet so he was only just standing on his toes, then pushed him back hard against the wall behind him. The stunning blow reverberated through Mac’s body, his spine arched away from the cold wall and he felt his hands sliding from their grip on his attacker.

He had always wanted to live to be old. Of course he did. Wanted to spend a lifetime with loved ones and friends, exploring, learning, sharing memories. But he knew his line of work could jeopardise the likelihood of a long and healthy life so he’d figured that if he wasn’t going to become old and grey he would go out in a flash of science and brilliance. Sharp and light and eye catching. In a way that would literally leave a mark: smoke, laser burns or shattered glass. Not with the breath rung out of him by some slab of meat with a neck thicker than his head and a misshapen tattoo across his knuckles. 

Mac tried to look over to Jack again but couldn’t. Tried to pull at the fingers that were killing him but couldn’t. Water replaced the muscles in his legs. Water in his lungs. No air. Pain. Black filled his vision as he slipped under.

A thud. 

The unmistakable sound of a heavy object forcefully meeting a skull. 

And Mac crumpled to the floor with the restriction around his throat gone. He coughed painfully, the air he pulled frantically into his lungs burned.

“And that’s what you get!” 

The blackness faded from his vision as breath filled his screaming lungs. Jack’s boots were revealed as Meat Hands keeled slowly, but as inevitably as a felled oak, to the left where he landed so heavily he bounced on the tiles, thoroughly unconscious.

“Mac? You okay” Jack’s expression was lined with concern. He dropped down to his knees next to Mac, “Don’t try to speak, let me look at you.” 

Mac was able to ease himself into a sitting position. The horror of choking was subsiding but he was still pulling quick, panicked breaths in. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensation of breathing to help him focus and settle. Air flowed in and out of his lungs, the wall was cold and unmoving behind his back, Jack’s hands were solid and supportive on his shoulders. Mac’s own fingers had made their way to his partner’s arms, gripping into the fabric they found there for an anchor. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else? Your head?” Jack’s hands moved to feel through Mac’s hair, searching for lumps and cuts.

Mac shook his head. “How?” he mouthed, not wanting to test using his voice yet.

“What? Oh, this!” Jack waved a thick black baton. “I took this from one of your buddy’s friends just before he went to sleep. Figured I could use it to give you a hand.”

Mac smiled at Jack. Tried to. He wasn’t sure what expression he actually formed. 

Jack tipped Mac’s head up with a thumb under his chin, “He really did a number on your neck,” he scowled, looking at the bruises forming on Mac’s skin “that’s going to leave a mark. We need to get you out of here. Get you some ice. Can you stand?”

After a quick inventory of his body Mac nodded. He started to say ‘thanks’. It hurt. He stopped, grimacing.

“No need to thank me,” Jack held up a hand to silence him, “that’s why they pay me the big bucks.” They managed to both climb to their feet with one of his arms around Mac’s shoulder, “Or, you know, some of the big bucks. More like the small bucks really.” Jack’s grin faded as his expression became serious, “Are you ready to go?”

Mac nodded and forced him muscles to move forward. 

_I can’t remember what the lesson about the lake in winter was, if I’m honest. It was probably something about change, the cycle of the seasons, or the importance of timing. My main memory of that day is holding the hot chocolate my grandfather made me as I watched him building up a fire when get got home. The warmth from the drink flowing into my cold fingers as I held the mug, thinking that it didn’t matter too much that it was cold outside if you have somewhere warm to go home to._

“You know,” Jack said as they walked, “I could get used to you not being able to talk, silence is golden and all, and a little time without being corrected or having to listening to some science mumbo jumbo sounds pretty good.” Mac attempted a look that combined an eye roll with a long suffering expression. He must have managed it because Jack laughed, looking pleased. 

They moved past the slumped bodies on the floor and towards the exit and the waiting chopper.

“Have I ever told you my theory about how time travel is possible at the top of mountains?”


End file.
